Room 221, Dorm B
by MysteriousWriterXxx
Summary: This isn't just any story of a "rising from the ashes hero" that was "bullied into suicidal thoughts" then "pulled out of the darkness by love" That's not this story (My first Sherlock fanfic, sorry if it's a bit OOC.) (Reviews are much appreciated.) (JOHNLOCK) (UNIVERSITY FIC) (AU)
1. Introduction - 221B

Everyone and their mother knows that Sherlock Holmes is unlike any other at St. Bart's University. In fact, Sherlock Holmes was unlike any other anywhere. The only problem with being Sherlock Holmes was having a massive intellect which most people deem…well, annoying to put it delicately.

If I were to be in-delicate I'd say they all believed him to be a "freak" or "creep" because of his abnormal and amazingly rare amount of intellect. Well, this is his story.

This isn't just any story of a "rising from the ashes hero" that was "bullied into suicidal thoughts" then "pulled out of the darkness by love"

That's not this story.

This story is about Sherlock Holmes and his life; his sad, twisted, amazing life.

And this is how it begins.

It all started on one particularly ordinary day. Overly ordinary, actually. Dull. Boring. Typical. Tedious.

Those are words used my Sherlock Holmes at the precise moment he pulls into the long winding driveway of St. Bart's University. Mycroft Holmes, his elder brother sat next to him in the back of the sleek black car, Sherlock's suitcases in the trunk, and a simple shoulder bag next to the boy in between himself and his brother.

The car pulled up to the drop-off section of the parking lot. The Holmes boys looked at the families hugging and crying about letting their child leave home, and go to college. This was Sherlock's second year in this University and he hated it. He hated coming back. He wanted to leave and never return and never look back. This was a large university with Dorms A & B for male students and Dorms C & D for female students, located on opposite ends of the property. Clever decision. This University was top ranked athletically and academically. It had some of the toughest classes and elite students interested in many different careers.

Sherlock sulked the entire way there, dreading his return. Last year, his roommate actually refused to live with him in room 134 dorm A. The room was ideal. Close to all his classes according to Sherlock and he'd get there perfectly on time. Fred Bigby decided he'd room with two of his mates after one night in the room. His mates' room was in Dorm B, further from his classes and he was constantly late. Sherlock scoffed at his illogical decision at first. Then, Fred Bigby made it clear to Sherlock as to WHY he refused to live with him.

Sherlock had a bruised cheek and rib for a month, the words "freak" echoing in his ears whenever he touched the wounds.

Yes, Sherlock was un-feeling and cold-hearted, but it didn't mean that he wouldn't remember that day for the rest of the year. The day he was beaten. Sherlock sighed to himself.

"No reason to dwell in the past, Sherlock" Mycroft sighed next to him. Sherlock turned his icy glare from the window to Mycroft. "It'll be better this year."

The car came to a halt and Sherlock gave his brother one last quick glare before hurriedly getting out of the car and collecting his things.

_We'll know if you try to escape like last time. Do try to stay here this year. _

_-MH _

Sherlock glared at his phone as the black car drove away, glancing up when it had disappeared from sight. He shouldered his bags and carried them to the check-in desk.

"Hello again, Sherlock. I was afraid you'd have picked another school. Glad to see you're back." The older woman smiled at him as she looked for his room assignment.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson, how's the hip?" Sherlock looked her over "Seems as though the surgery went alright."

Mrs. Hudson smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm feeling much better. Your room is 221 in Dorm B this year dear. Try not to get your experiments everywhere this year, though. I'm not your housekeeper." She smiled fondly then added. "Oh, Sherlock, your roommate has already arrived. He got here quite early. Try to be nice."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and picked up his bags, giving Mrs. Hudson a quick goodbye and set off for 221B.

_Do I want to know what my roommate will be like? Probably not. Going to be dull. He came here early. SO he must be punctual. Could be clever, or he could be a scholarship student. More likely the scholarship, this IS a very prestigious and elite school. _Sherlock thought to himself. He looked around as he got to dorm B.

Anderson was in 232B with Lestrade. Sherlock sighed. Anderson was the one to put the idea of him being a creepy freak in everyone's head.

As Sherlock walked down the hallways to get to 221B, he saw people tense when he walked by. Sherlock knew it was because nobody wants to room with him, they all would move out. All of them. Nobody wanted to stay with the freak.

Sherlock almost missed 221, as he noticed he was walking next to 223, he back peddled to 221.

_This is it. This had better be a good room. _Sherlock thought. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Sherlock walked in calmly and smoothly and looked around. He heard noises coming from the bathroom and figured his roommate would be pulling his toothbrush and other things in there. Sherlock put his things on he bed without things on it and began to set up his desk.

Footsteps were heard as the other person walked out of the bathroom and started unpacking as well.

"Hello." He stated simply, yet cheerfully. Sherlock turned around to asses this new being in the room. Sherlock looked him up and down, making the other feel vulnerable and self-conscious.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock said quietly. The other man looked up slowly, and narrowed his eyes.

"Excuse me, what?" He replied suspiciously. Sherlock sighed and turned to face the other person fully.

"Your father. Is he in Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock repeated, clearly irritated this time around.

"Afghanistan." He paused "How did you know that?"

"I don't know, I notice."

"How did you notice that?"

"The same way I noticed you have a slight limp on one of your legs, your therapist thinks is psychosomatic and I'm afraid they're correct. You have a brother you won't turn to or come in contact with, probably because they're an alcoholic- or maybe because they recently just walked out on their wife. You also have a slight tremor in your hand."

They stood staring for a while. Sherlock waiting for the word "stalker" to come up and the other waiting for an explanation.

"How…" He was speechless. "How did you know about all of that?"

"Well" Sherlock started. "you show no sign of injury anywhere, in fact, you used to be a rugby player. Oh don't give me that look, your old jersey is sticking out of you bag. Now then, you must have a therapist because anyone with a psychosomatic limp and a tremor in their hand is bound to have a therapist. I knew about your brother from your mobile phone, which I glanced at briefly. The phone is new, very nice, but being a scholarship student with a father on military leave, you wouldn't have that much money to buy a mostly useless luxury, so it was a gift. The engraving on the back says "To Harry from Clara" now Clara, who's Clara? Girlfriend? No, the gift is too extravagant for a girlfriend, wife then. But why would your brother give YOU the present? He must have ended it with Clara, not the other way around because if Clara had divorced him, he would've kept the phone. Sentimental value. But he gave it to you, indicating he wants you to stay in touch."

A pause. "How did you know about the alcoholism?" He inquired quickly.

"A shot in the dark" Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "the charger. The scratches around the edges indicating the drunk trying to get the charger in without much focus. You never see a drunks without them and you never see a sober's with them."

Sherlock's breathing had become a bit faster, waiting for the insults.

"That…was amazing."

Sherlock blinked. "It was?"

The other just nodded awkwardly. "Yup, it was fantastic, it was brilliant, it was…amazing."

Sherlock felt a rush of pride only to be shot down instantly.

"Except, you got something wrong."

Sherlock frowned "What was it? Is your mother the one in Afghanistan?"

"Harry is short for Harriet." The boy looked smug, like he'd just done something great.

"Sister." Sherlock cursed under his breath "Always something."

"John Watson, and you are?" John stated simply, holding out his hand to Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock reluctantly shook his hand then pulled back quickly. John made a noise that sounded like a realization. "Oh," John said, "So YOU'RE, Sherlock Holmes. People say some horrid things about you, you know."

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, I know. I suppose you're going to move out now that you know?" Sherlock rolled his eyes as he set up his microscope on the desk, pulling the beakers and beaker holder out carefully.

"Why would I do that? You seem okay to me." John stated confidently. Sherlock's back straightened and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Sometimes I don't talk for days on end, and I like to play the violin, would that bother you?" Sherlock murmured over his shoulder.

"No, actually, I enjoy the violin and silence isn't always a bad thing." John smiled at him. "I snore slightly and I will probably keep you up while I study for mid-terms and finals until all hours." He laughed a bit as he also continued to unpack.

"That's fine. I don't sleep much either." Sherlock replied, finishing up his desktop lab. He smiled in self-victory and sighed happily.

This could prove to be the greatest year of Sherlock Holmes' life.


	2. the Bystander and the Unfeeling

**John's POV**

After Sherlock and I's little discussion this morning, I kept seeing him.

All

The

Time

First I didn't see him at breakfast, lunch nor dinner, but I saw him in Literature, Music, and History. My three morning classes were all with Sherlock. We also had most of the same breaks. In my afternoon courses, His classroom was usually right across from, or directly next to my own room. At first, I thought it may be because roommates get similar schedules, but I asked Tim Gardner, Fred Bigby, and many other paired off roommates I saw in class, and they said they don't have schedules that close. It was just coincidence.

Fred Bigby, though, he had a couple side notes about Sherlock. I ended up sitting with his bunch at lunch (Sherlock wasn't there even though he also had lunch at this time).

"I feel bad for you, Watson. The Holmes kid is a downright freak." Fred spat out venomously "I hated the poor sod. He's just downright insane. He was experimenting with three severed thumbs, John. THUMBS. Doesn't get any weirder than that. Where does he even GET the thumbs?"

I sighed. I've been getting this all day. I mean, sure, Sherlock sounds pretty weird but he came off as polite and overly clever. Maybe even a bit cocky, but never a "freak" to me.

"He sounded alright this morning. He's very clever, I'll give him that much so far." I counteracted with something positive. Sherlock Holmes may not seem like the type to hang out with these people, but I sure as hell won't let them talk that way about him.

"Yeah, 'so far' eh? Just you wait, John, just you wait." Fred scowled, then his face brightened a bit "Tell you what, if he bothers you, I'll teach him a lesson like I did last year, right boys?" Fred grinned and nudged his friends, and they all laughed. I just sat there, staring.

"Wait what? What did you do to him?" I hope they didn't severely hurt him, like breaking bones. No wonder he looked surprised when I said he was gorgeous- I mean, BRILLIANT. Where did gorgeous come from? I'm straight.

"We taught him a lesson about being a freak. Might've roughed him up a bit here and there throughout the year." Fred smirked "left a couple bruises, we once gave him a black eye. Well, maybe more than once, but the over-confident git deserved it." He shrugged then added "We once broke two fingers."

By this point I was seething. How could anyone do this to another person? It's just downright cruel. I nodded solemnly and got up, threw out my remaining lunch and walked away.

"John? Where ya' goin'?" Rick DeLanski shouted after me.

Anywhere but here, I thought bitterly as I walked out of the cafeteria. I put my hands in my pockets and I walked down the hallway, only my slightly weaker leg making my footsteps irregular. I wonder where Sherlock is. Maybe he's back in the room, working on homework assignments or something. Maybe he's chatting with friends- wait. Does Sherlock have any friends? I knit my eyebrows and decided to continue my walk outside near the park behind the school. I saw a bunch of people from class, seeing as this was school property and we were allowed to roam free here.

I glanced over to the more shaded area on the far side, where a couple couples and a few druggies were located. I almost passed my eyes over it carelessly when I spotted a familiar tuft of raven curls. I quickly went to Sherlock and sat down next to him.

"Hey, Sherlock" I said to him, smiling. He looked up quickly, like I scared him, and I noticed a small cigarette in his leather gloved hand. He coughed a bit and stamped out the cigarette. I have to say, I'm a bit surprised he smokes, but I mean, not that surprised. I hardly know him.

"Oh, uh, hello, John. Um…" He looked around a bit. "Why didn't you finish lunch with your friends?"

"Um, needed some fresh air and I spotted you. Hope you don't mind if I sit with you?" I asked quickly.

"Come now, John, you obviously were having a great time until they said something you clearly disagreed with, or didn't like, and you left early." He rolled his eyes and scooted a bit away. "Are you sure you'd want to be seen with me? It's apparently some sort of social suicide. By the look on your face I'd say the conversation was about me." Sherlock sighed, looking cold and bored. "What was it this time? Anything new?"

I stared at him for a second until he looked at me expectantly. "Well Fred Bigby said you had three severed thumbs you were experimenting on…?"

"Dull. I was, and I HAD them until he threw them away. Annoying git, that one is. He was my roommate last year." Sherlock gave a quick glance to his right hand "He certainly expresses his feelings outright and in-delicately." I looked at his fingers on his right hand. Two of them, the pinky and ring fingers, had looked slightly tilted and bent. He had set them himself. I sighed and took his hand.

"Let me see." I sighed and looked over his fingers. "You set these yourself, didn't you?"

"Seemed easy enough" He shrugged and pulled his hand away quickly, almost child-like. I gave him my best "are-you-kidding-me?" faces and turned away.

"There's something on your left shoulder." Sherlock said quickly. "I think it's a th-pider- I mean" he cleared his throat "Spider"

"Sherlock do you have a lisp?" I smiled mischievously, eyeing his reaction. His face turned a barely noticeable shade of pink and reached his arm around my shoulders.

"I'll get it. I hate….spiders." He hesitated on the last word, and I felt him flick something off my shoulder, and turned my head away to look. Just then, Fred Bigby and Rick DeLanski walked by.

"I think John went this way-" Rick said then stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Sherlock and I, horrified. "Oh my god, Bigby! Sherlock is trying to hit on John!" Rick pulled me away from Sherlock faster than I could realize what happened. Fred rushed over.

"What a fag." He mumbled, then turned to Sherlock. "Sherlock! Don't you know that John here is straight? Surely your" he paused "clever mind" Fred smirked at his sarcasm "could've figured that one out?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're such an imbecile, Fred. Of course I knew that John is straight, that's obvious. I was only getting a thpider- I mean" Sherlock looked slightly frustrated. "Spider off of his shoulder. It was purely out of context you idiotic, stupid little moron" Sherlock sneered at him. That got Fred going all right.

"What did you just say to me? Freak?" Fred challenged, stepping closer to where Sherlock was sitting, his back against the tree, looking calm.

"I said, and I hate repeating myself, that you are an idiotic, stupid little moron." Sherlock seemed less than interested in anything that was happening. "Now leave me alone."

Fred was having none of that. Sherlock wasn't looking at him until Fred took him by the lapels of his large coat. I held my breath as he pulled his arm back, aimed at Sherlock's face. Sherlock showed no expression at all until he smirked tiredly.

"I dare you." Sherlock spat through clenched teeth and that did it. Next thing I knew, Sherlock was on the ground, face down in the dirt, with Fred looking at him smugly. "Don't mess with me, Holmes. Next time I won't be so generous." Fred walked away with Rick and I was left standing there, staring at Sherlock. He got up, head down, and started quickly walking back to Dorm B, leaving me staring at his back.

I should've done something.

I should've bloody done something instead of just stand there, watching Sherlock get hit.

I watched Sherlock walk down the path back to Dorm B, a couple people who saw, laughed at him and whispered in their fried's ear about him. A few others gave him a shove. I felt so horrible about just standing there, I rushed after him just in time so be merely 5 feet away when he got actually shoved harshly to the ground.

I scowled at the perpetrator and pulled Sherlock up, back on his feet and yanked him gently along, signaling to keep walking. I felt their stares as I walked with Sherlock. I felt the cold judging stares. But oddly enough, I felt one confused stare the most, which was Sherlock himself. He was staring at me, like I had done something amazing, yet he didn't get why it was great. A small smile graced his cupids bow lips and then disappeared as quickly as it came. I saw it, and I remember it.

"So, Sherlock, you got any friends? People you like, people you don't like…Girlfriends?" I added the last one quickly. Why did I suddenly feel my stomach clench?

"Girlfriends?" He sounded appalled, like it offended him. "Not really my area." He shrugged. Does that mean…?

"Boyfriends? I mean it's all fine." I said, a small blush crept on my cheeks.

"Hm. No." he paused, and stopped walking, and I stopped as well a beat later, and we stared at each other. "Uh, John, while I find that most flattering, I consider myself married to my school work-"

"Oh! No, no." I cut him off before that got any further "I'm just saying; it's all fine"

"I know it's fine…?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly and we kept walking.

We walked in a comfortable silence until we got back to our dorm and gathered our things for our afternoon classes. Sherlock kept glancing at me, though, for the rest of the day like he had when I'd helped him. I could see a black bruise forming near his eye, but decided not to press him about it because he obviously knew after looking in the mirror and sighing. I just don't think I could handle the guilt if he told me he was in a lot of pain.


	3. Protesting and Drunkness

Afternoon classes were nothing eventful. I met some kid named Greg Lestrade in Advanced Biology who apparently also knew Sherlock from high school. It was nice to finally have someone else to talk nice things about Sherlock. Apparently (according to Greg) he has a "hot" older brother named Mycroft who is practically the British government and the Holmes' family is insanely rich. Sherlock was also addicted to cocaine a while back and skipped senior year at public school and was home-schooled from rehab by his brother (even though he learned the whole curriculum within three months, the boy is brilliant).

Needlessly to say, Greg is quickly becoming one of my best friends.

When I was leaving, Mary Morstan came up to me, flirtatiously twirling her finger in her hair, asking me to come to her party later in the Dorm D commons. Everyone's going. Does that mean Sherlock is going? I nodded and told her I'd be there, then dashed back to 221B as fast as I could to see Sherlock. When I came in, he was hunched over a microscope, a small cut running across his arm and a cut in his shirt.

"Oh, god, Sherlock." I walked over quickly, going over to his side of the room "Did someone do this to you?" I felt my blood boil at the thought of someone hurting Sherlock like this, to a point where it could possibly scar him.

"No. I got cut on a loose screw on a bench after stopping to tie my shoe between classes. I'm making sure the rusty needle didn't give me any sort of disease. I'm fine, John. Now, what was the news you were intending on telling me before you saw my injury?" Sherlock muttered quickly.

"Oh, yeah, how did you…? Oh, never mind that. Are you going to Mary Morstan's party in the Dorm D commons later?" I smiled down at him. He deadpanned and snorted.

"You honestly believe I was invited…?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked back in his microscope, adjusting the lenses. "I'm a high functioning sociopath. I don't think that would be a delightful experience."

"B-But Sherlock, you have to go! I don't have any other friends there! Besides Greg, of course." I reasoned out the best way to make Sherlock come with me. I thought of nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

Twenty minutes before the party, I ran over to Lestrade's dorm where I heard him and Anderson bickering, stopping when I knocked on the door. Anderson opened it.

"Oh. The freak's roommate is here, Lestrade." Anderson called over his shoulder and let me in politely. I was so close to just ripping that smug smile off his face. Lestrade came over and I quickly explained the plan, which he thought should work. We went back with ten minutes to spare. I walked in first and did my best to portray myself going to the party alone.

"Sherlock, are you sure you're not coming?" by your own free will?

"Yes, John, I'm sure." Sherlock drawled out monotone. Too bad. You're going.

Lestrade walked in quickly and we both took one of Sherlock's arms and pulled him off his stool in front of the microscope and began dragging him out of the room, taking his room key along with mine and putting them in my pocket before he could see, even though he'd probably figure it out later.

"J-John!? Where are you taking me? Why's Lestrade here?" Sherlock asked quickly, kicking and dragging his legs, trying to force himself to a halt.

"I told you you're going with me." I retorted mischievously as me and Lestrade both lifted him up a bit so his legs were just helplessly swinging. It was cute how helpless and panicked he looked. Wait.

"Sherlock, you need to get out more often. We're at Uni, no need to stay cooped up in your room like that. Have a little fun!" Lestrade encouraged helpfully and Sherlock still fought against our grip. We were passing Dorm C, and less than fifty feet away from the door to the Dorm D common area, where I already heard music and saw colored lights through the windows. A couple with red solo cups in hand, had just stumbled out the door, snogging drunkly and falling on top of each other into the grass, spilling their drinks on the lawn. Sherlock, seeing this, looked absolutely horrified and fought even harder against us.

"Don't make me go! I'm not welcome there anyway! Let me stay in the room, PLEASE. J-John, they'll hurt me when you're not with me! They're going to kick me out anyways!" Sherlock whined and begged at us. A small pang of guilt rushed through my body.

"Sherlock, I'll stay within sight of you. I'll watch you all night if I have to. Please try to have fun. As your friend, I'm asking you politely" Sherlock froze when I said 'friend' and stared at me, then blinked and went back to fighting against us.

"Yes, John, this is VERY polite of you to kidnap me like this. Unlike those impolite kidnappers." Sherlock's words were laced with sarcasm and venom. He glared at us, we only put him down when we got inside, even then we dragged him through the thick crowd so he wouldn't escape so easily. When we finally let go, he tried bolting, only to have me grab the back of his shirt and yank him backwards. This repeated seventeen times until Sherlock gave up and sat down.

After a couple drinks, my vision was getting a bit cloudy.

**Sherlock POV**

John was starting to get very drunk, very fast. I didn't start worrying until he ended up stumbling away with some girl into the crowd to dance. I panicked a bit and looked around, keeping an eye on John, but looking away when the girl began snogging him needingly. John seemed a bit confused but kissed back anyways. I began feeling nauseous watching them for only a second. John was allowed to live as he pleases.

But it doesn't mean I can't want things for him. Like I want him to be snogging me helplessly, but consciously and not under the influence of alcohol, and because he wants to, not because he doesn't know what he wants from the dazing effects of the depressant. John was getting clumsy and seemingly annoyed when the girl put her hands on his hips. He pushed her away and shook his head comically like he was scolding a kitten. He stumbled over to me and looked me dead in the eye.

"Hey Sherlock. Mister Holmessss." I sighed at his insufferable slurring and slung an arm around my shoulder and began dragging him to the door. "Sheeeerlock. You're so pretty, y'know." John giggled hazily. Oh god, not this stage in drunkness. I hate this part the second most. The first being the throwing up later.

"Thank you, John. Time to go home." I said soothingly to him over the pounding music, bringing to the door and almost opened it when that idiot Anderson intercepted me.

"Where you going, freak?" Anderson jeered, his arm slung around Sally Donovan.

"I'm taking John back to the room, seeing as he's intoxicated and cannot function properly by himself, I'm helping him." John giggled beside me as I tried to talk over the music. "Now please move."

I tried to move around him but he moved in front of me. I sighed and made john stand by himself for a moment before punching Anderson square in the nose and hurrying back to the room, hearing calls of revenge from Anderson and a couple others as I pulled John back to the safety and warmth of 221B.


	4. The Hangover and the Hickey

Dragging John up to 221B was a lot harder than expected. He may wake up with a bruised knee from when he nearly fell down the stairs. I ended up picking him up by placing my arms around his back and under his knees, carrying him carefully to our room. I tried to set him down in his own bed, but he just about screamed in drunken protest so I slumped him on my bed, where he seemed much more content. I slid him under my blankets and pulled the duvet over him gingerly.

As I turned to change into my sleepwear, I felt a tug on the back of my shirt, as firm as when John was trying to keep me at that accursed social event that he deemed "fun" and I turned around.

Oh, no, Sherlock. You're not going to give in.

That little lost puppy look is only the result of alcohol. Do not give in to it.

I sighed and turned to him and sat on the edge of my bed, staring expectantly. Alright, you got me. What? John giggled a bit and patted the space next to him. NO. SHERLOCK. DON'T.

I laid down next to John and folded my arms. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side. I shouldn't have given in this easily. John rolled over and faced me, and began drunkly mumbling incoherently.

"John, I know you're hopelessly drunk, and I'm going to have to deal with you in the morning, but dear god, make real sentences, I KNOW you can. You used it to call me "pretty" which I will be forgetting because I found the comment a bit strange." I ranted, then looked at John stare at me, confused. I rolled my eyes. "god John. Must I treat you like a five-year-old? Make big sentence John." I enunciated clearly, and he nodded to show understanding.

"You're pretty when your speaking hole moves a lot like that, Sheeeerly" John giggled and I stared at him. Did he just call me Sherly? He'll pay for that. "y'know, I like boys the same way I like girlsss."

I rolled my eyes. Obviously, by the way his pupils are slightly dilated, he's the kind of drunk that gets very lustful when intoxicated, and is trying to come onto me by giving me the idea of a possible relationship. I should go get him some water to help deal with his inevitable hangover tomorrow morning-

All thought processes stopped as John's hand palmed me through my trousers and began kissing my neck clumsily. I blinked, trying to restart the hard drive and tried to move away quickly and efficiently without disturbing John too much. No such luck as he moved his hand from my crotch to my hip and pulling me against him. Why did this have to happen to me?

I heard a door open and panicked. John didn't care or didn't notice and began climbing on top of me, making this look a lot worse than it really was. Gladly, it was only Lestrade-

And Mycroft. Of course Mycroft was here, he said earlier he'd be around to bug my dorm as soon as he found it. This looked really bad, the way John was straddling my hips and kissing my neck made it look very, very wrong. I tried to wiggle out of his iron grasp and had no success and decided to try harder to get him off of me.

I saw Mycroft fully take in what was happening and started laughing, then took out his camera phone.

No, Mycroft, NO. Oh. He took the damn picture. I counted the taps on his phone and decided he was probably sending it to myself to mock me. He carried on bugging John and I's room, while he made no attempt to help his younger brother. Lestrade, though, figured it out eventually and finally pulled John off of me. I sighed with relief and got up swiftly, then straightened my shirt out.

I spent the rest of my evening following Mycroft around, removing the small cameras and microphones as he went along, making him have to start over again until I gave up. Which I didn't. It wasway too funny watching Mycroft squirm under the watchful eye of his ex, Lestrade, whom he still obviously wanted back and having Lestrade feel uncomfortable because he still had feelings for my elder brother. It was actually humorous.

When Mycroft finally gave up, he huffed out of the room, and I shut the door behind him loudly. I heard silent snoring (barely noticeable) and figured John went to sleep, hopefully in his own bed. I quickly thanked Lestrade before sighing and getting ready to climb into Johns bed, seeing as mine was occupied, but Lestrade stopped me.

He pulled me back and stared at me from the side, taking some kind of interest on my neck where John's soft, moist lips had once deliciously had been placed. I cleared my throat. No sentiment.

"Sherlock," Lestrade paused "you have a bruise on your neck." I glanced at him and rushed to the washroom to get a look in the mirror. Sure enough, a dark spot had appeared in surprising contrast to my much paler skin, making it more obvious. I hadn't gotten punch or hit anywhere near there, meaning, when John had started really using that mouth of his…

He left a mark.

I could've gotten up and not told John what happened, but this mark had changed everything. If John, or ANYONE saw this mark, he would be worse off than before, the harassment rising to a more personal level. A level that involved John, which I will not tolerate. Nobody can know.

**John POV**

I woke up with a splitting headache but in a place that was most certainly not my side of the room. What happened last night? Why am I in Sherlock's bed? I blinked and looked at the clock. I groaned and turned over, then turned back over and looked at the clock. Class started an hour and a half ago! I almost sprang out of bed when I felt a warm hand gently press on my chest and push me back down.

"Calm down, John." Sherlock whispered, even though it sounded like he was talking normally. Ugh. "I emailed your teachers and mine, informing them we both have a temperature and food poisoning from drinking expired milk. We're excused from classes today. I'll take care of whatever you need me for. Your hangover from getting properly piss drunk last night is going to just get worse. I'll try not to make too much noise." Sherlock spoke as clearly and slowly as possible, facing mostly away from me.

"Thank you, Sherlock. That was very kind of you." I smiled as best I could and laid back down, relaxing more. I saw Sherlock place a glass of water when I he thought I had my eyes closed and when he turned away, I saw a dark purpling bruise on his neck, barely peeking over the collar of his button down. My eyes fluttered open and I weakly grabbed his wrist and pulled him a bit closer.

"Sherlock, what's on your neck? Did someone hit you while I was drunk?" I got a bit angry with myself until Sherlock blushed a bit.

"Ah, no, actually, this is a love bite." Sherlock twisted his wrist out of my grip and tried to escape until I kicked my leg out from under the blanket and hooked my foot around his knee, making him fall backwards onto the floor next to the bed with a grunt.

"Sherlock, who did that?" I smirked "A pretty girl? Get lucky last night, Sherlock?" I grinned more mischievously as his eyes flickered with panic and he fought off a blush.

"Of course not. It was a very drunk male individual who must've thought I was some girl. I don't know him. I just bumped into him when fetching you. Nothing big, John, I'm still a virgin" Sherlock laughed awkwardly. He got up and brushed off his pants from being on the ground.

Sherlock's a virgin? My thoughts went on a hormonal rampage, as my weak, hung over brain could not keep the sexually frustrating fantasies from pouring out into my subconscious. Can you not imagine how impossibly _tight_ Sherlock must be? And how easily he would reach his climax from just a few simple-

God, John Hamish Watson, stop this right now. Yes, you are a bisexual individual who believes Sherlock Holmes is impossibly attractive. Who wouldn't? They just never got to see this caring side of Sherlock. I mean, if everyone knew he would blow off his classes just to take care of you, they'd know how actually very sweet the man is, and how caring he can be. He appears cold, but he has just never willed himself to be nice to others like he is to me. Maybe he's just repaying me for helping him and being his friend.

Sherlock was, no doubt, a very cold and unforgiving man. As Lestrade put it, "Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and one day, he might even be a good one" which I believe describes him perfectly. He's obviously an abslute prick at a lot of instances, like when he'd reduced our Literature teacher to a crying, tattered, and broken woman after he so graciously decided he did not like her as a professor and decided to reveal to the whole class that she whores herself out on some nights behind her husbands back, and had learned only recently that her husband was cheating on her this entire time, so she began doing heroine. She was fired, and sobbing the whole way to her car, and possibly all the way home.

But the way he treats me, like I'm his actual friend, is much more caring and kind. He stayed in the room, obviously boring himself as he'd already taken three showers to occupy himself, when he could be doing his schoolwork (which he enjoyed) and deducing everyone who walked by as a form of entertainment in-between classes. He COULD be out there, BUT he's in here, now making us both tea.

There's much more to Sherlock Holmes than just a hard shell. I think if everyone knew that, he'd be much more well-liked.

"Do you want to move back to your original bed? I mean you could stay in mine again if you're not feeling well enough to get up, or if you just plain old don't want to. I mean you seemed like you would much rather be in my bed last night." Sherlock chuckled. "You were hilarious."

I scowled playfully at him. We'd been talking idly all day, about two conversations in which he told me about how Lestrade and Mycroft rudely barged in when you were trying to put me to bed. He also told me about some "somewhat attractive female" who was snogging me mercilessly until I pushed her away. We laughed and talked throughout the day.

I couldn't help but feel like something was missing from his stories from last night, I just couldn't put my finger on it.


	5. Upcoming Holiday and Upcoming Mid-Terms

I stared at the once purple bruise, now fading surprisingly quick. I had to ask Sherlock. When we went to literature, the day after our stay-in, I saw him take the seat in the back in the corner near the window, and bolted to take the seat next to him at the two-seater desk. Bigby (my usual partner for Literature) stared at us with cold judging eyes. Sherlock looked back and forth between me and Bigby, confused. He's not used to having a partner to work with in class. Bigby ended up having to sit with another group, glaring intently at me, most of the time.

"Sherlock." I finally said when the teacher assigned us to read the passage and answer the questions with our partners. "I know hickeys when I see them. That spot is too deliberate and well placed to be an accident. You lied to me. " I hissed at him. I saw his face turn partially red, and he refused to look at me. Fine, don't tell me.

"Fine, then, John" Sherlock whispered urgently "It was you. You were drunk, laid on my bed, kept repeatedly calling me 'pretty' which I did NOT like by the way, and you pulled me on the bed, first mumbling about liking both men and woman, drunkly implying you were bisexual, and began giving me this" he firmly pointed at the bruise "whilst trying to give me a hand job through my trousers – no you didn't take off anything and neither did I – then you jumped on me and made the hickey-thing darker and bigger, then, Mycroft and Lestrade just so happened to come by and pull you off me. Afterwards, you passed out on my bed while I harassed my brother, who took a picture and sent it to my phone. Are you happy now?" Sherlock finished hissing at me, and started responding to the questions on the worksheet, his face gradually turning more and more red.

I glanced at his jacket and pulled his phone out before he could stop me.

_**1 message – Mycroft holmes (**__one multimedia attachment__**)**_

Oh god. I really did that to him? I reluctantly opened the message and stared at the picture. I saw Sherlock with a panicked expression, but at the same time I could tell he was very aroused from the slightly bigger than usual bulge. Then I saw me, eyes closed, fingers in the raven curls, and sucking and biting on that spot on Sherlock's neck.

"Oh god, Sherlock, I'm so sorr-"I started when I felt the phone be snatched away by some dark-haired, pale-faced kid. Sherlock visibly tensed and looked up urgently at him. They knew each other.

"Oh~ John being a dirty boy, mm? Dear me, Mr. Holmes, Dear me." The boy smirked and threw the phone back at us, only to be expertly caught by Sherlock. "Don't worry, I won't say anything." He smirked at us. "I just love knowing things."

The also dark-haired girl beside him giggled mischievously and smiled. I looked over at Sherlock who had gone right back to scribbling away. I knew the girl as Irene Adler. She has this website where she spills gossip about everyone and everything that happened wherever she went. She has connections and dirt on everyone. You cross her, she'll leak your private information all conveniently stored on her password locked phone. They went back to work after I turned around.

"Sherlock, I-"

"John" He cut me off. "It's honestly fine. You didn't know what you were doing. You were drunk, John." He chuckled. I sighed. I looked down at my paper to see it was all filled in wit h handwriting almost identical to my own.

"Sherlock, did you….?" I gestured to the paper. He looked it over, bemused.

"Oh. Yes, I did. Your handwriting wasn't hard to copy, and I answered as I thought you might. On my own paper I am writing more well thought out responses. I am maintaining my perfect grades to show everyone here that I can still be perfectly functional even with their stupid little jeers and quips towards me. Those responses will get you high marks, though, I assure you. " Sherlock said quickly.

I blinked. "Oh. Um, thank you, Sherlock. That was very nice of you to do that." I blinked and read over the answers, which surprisingly sounded like what I would've said, but a bit more intellectual.

After a couple months into school, me and Sherlock grew closer and closer, and became best friends. It was more exciting and fun to be around Sherlock and his deductions, rather than the rugby team that only talked about sex, girls, and mean jeers pointed towards good people like Sherlock. It was Mid-term week. It was time. I have to ask him. I need Sherlock, and I need him now. I need what he does for me. I want him to come to my aid.

"Sherlock?" I called to him from my bed. "Could you come here for a bit?"

Sherlock turned around, away from his lab, concerned, "Is everything alright?" I sighed.

"No, um, can I ask you something? I've been stressed lately and….god this is embarrassing." I replied hesitantly.

"What is it?" Sherlock walked over and sat on the bed with me.

"Um…Could you…" I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "Help me study for Mid-terms? I'm having a bit of trouble understanding everything…" I said lamely. God, this is pathetic, I mean, asking help from your genius roommate and best friend. Sherlock smiled.

"Of course, John. I could tell you were struggling." Sherlock answered understandingly. We stayed up practically the whole night, until we finally made a break through.

"Wait….OH! Oh, Sherlock! I get it now!" I exclaimed excitedly, and in the heat of the moment, I reached over and hugged Sherlock excitedly. "I get it! You can remember EVERYTHING if you just find a way to connect everything! I understand it now. NOW I see why you're so smart." I smiled brightly and excitedly planted a happy kiss on the corner of Sherlock's cupid's bow lips.

I planted a kiss on…..oh god. I played it off easily, like nothing happened and started innocently reading the textbook passage to start memorizing. I must be crazy. It's about 3 o'clock in the morning; I must be just very sleep deprived. I felt Sherlock stare for a while, I dared a glance, then did a double take.

"What, Sherlock? You okay?" I asked politely. He shook his head and simply replied that it was nothing. Phew. That was way too close. These little slip-up moments where I accidentally express feelings more than best-friendship have been happening more frequently. We never talk about it, or look at each other afterward. It just happens. On a couple occasions, Sherlock would grab my hand in order to pull me along somewhere, but then let go right after I'd begun walking with him. This is the second time I've given him a peck. The first time was on the corner of his mouth as well, but a tad further away from the actual center of his lips.

We never talk about it. And we're not romantically involved in the least, but a guy can't help but wonder what It'd feel like to fully kiss those perfectly sculpted lips. I had told Sherlock that I really WAS bisexual one day, and he revealed that even though dating isn't his area, that if he were anything, he'd actually be very gay. Sherlock is the perfect virgin. Never been kissed, never in a relationship, never gotten a hickey before I gave it to him, and just overall very foreign to non-violent touch. He's only hugged another person enough times to count up on one hand. I was the first to even come close to kissing his lips, first to give him the hickey, first person to hug him repeatedly, and hold hands with. But none of those really counted because we weren't romantically involved.

"So, Sherlock, are you going home for break?" I asked casually. I would NOT be going home for break, I have every intention of staying here and not going home to my drunk family. Harrys moved out, Mother divorced father, and father is a homophobe who doesn't want me home anyways. Yeah, staying here, is more suited to my liking.

"Yes, mother wants me to come home for the holiday off. She wants me to bring back all of my "little college friends" to spend the holidays with us. I would honestly ask you, because you being there would make the holiday much more interesting and painless, but my family is atrocious so I don't want you to endure that nightmare." He drawled out monotone.

"oh, I see" I mumbled. I actually wouldn't mind spending the holiday with Sherlock. Having a week and a half off for Christmas and New Years would make me incredibly lonely with Sherlock.

"Unless you'd rather come with me than stay here all break like you were intending." Sherlock stated simply, but I could tell the thought made him a bit nervous and tense. Obviously, nobody's ever met his family before. He DID reveal to me that I was his first actual best friend.

"Hm, sure. I would love to, but I don't want to burden you in any way." I replied casually. There was no way I could afford plane tickets to Italy. There was just no way.

"I'll buy you plane tickets and pay for your entire trip if you really do desire to come home with me." Sherlock pronounced. I considered for a moment then smiled.

"Sure, I would LOVE to spend the holiday with you, Sherlock." I chuckled. I saw him suppress a smile as he turned back to face the experiment he was in the middle of.

"Very well, then. I would pack for the holiday, then. School's out when Mid-Terms are over." Sherlock responded, and I could practically hear the smile in his words.

Even though spending the holiday with Sherlock made me the happiest man on campus, I had some strange feeling that this holiday would not go as smooth as I'd hoped it would be.

I had the weirdest feeling that something big would happen.


	6. Emotions Take Flight to Venice

Meeting Sherlock's family should be easy enough if they were all like Sherlock. Although, the way Sherlock speaks of them, they probably aren't. I packed all my things for the trip to Sherlock's and packed clothes to last the break and a couple personal things like my laptop to blog, wallet, my mobile, and anything else I may need. Sherlock took absolutely nothing beside the regular jacket and scarf he wears, his own mobile, and his wallet.

I saw a couple students like Donovan and Anderson start talking and whispering to eachother when me and Sherlock got into the car together, making it obvious that we were spending the holiday together, and the fact that I had my things and Sherlock didn't, implied we were going to his own estate if you really thought about it carefully. People will talk more than they already do. I sighed to myself, and Sherlock looked over, giving me that abused puppy look that you could just read out the words "I'm so sorry you decided to be my friend, why did you chose this? I'm thankful for you but I feel sorry, and I wish I could change it"

But the weirdest part is, I stopped telling people I wasn't "actually gay" a few months ago, it was growing tedious, and I don't particularly care anymore. They can say what they like about Sherlock and I.

As we drove to the airport Sherlock and I said nothing, his headsets were plugged into his iPhone and he was listening to (yes, I checked) a chemistry book on recording. I laughed a bit and plugged in my own headsets and listened to The Ramones, blink-182, and Queen until we got to the airport.

Once seated on the plane, (Sherlock deliberately put us in first class, seated right next to eachother, and also bought the seat next to us so we wouldn't have to deal with someone else eavesdropping and trying to make idle conversation on the 2 hours and 10 minute flight to Venice, Italy. Once we were seated and we were about to life off into the air. I had never flown before (which I hadn't mentioned to Sherlock) since my family only lives about an hour or two away from Uni, we drove. My hands started shaking again for the first time since meeting Sherlock, and my leg ached like it had before it went away when I met Sherlock. I took a deep breath and swallowed. This shouldn't be too bad, right?

I felt a warm object tangle itself between my fingers and give a reassuring squeeze. I looked over at my hand and saw Sherlock's creamy, lanky fingers laced through my tanner, more calloused digits. I relaxed instantly at Sherlock's nice attempt for comfort. I smiled at him when I saw a quick pang of concern flash in his expression, and squeezed his hand back, showing I was okay. When we were finally in the air, turbulence ended and I relaxed a bit more, but never let go of Sherlock's hand.

"So, John, why didn't you tell me you were afraid of flying?" Sherlock smirked, still having his head tilted to the window, but only a bit, so I could still see his face perfectly fine. I inwardly groaned.

"I'll never hear the end of this, will I?" I replied, my tone dripping with remorse. Sherlock just laughed a bit.

"No, not really. But I'll probably always be the one to fly with you for one reason or another, so I'll use this," he held up our linked hands "as a comforting technique if I need to use it. It's quite pleasant, and not uncomfortable, so I don't mind." Sherlock looked over at me and smiled a little.

"Thank you, Sherlock." I drawled out robotically, acting like a child as I know he does. He chuckled and put our hands back on the seat. The optional armrest was lifted, letting our hands drop to the seat between our thighs, filling the gap between them. He WAS correct though, I mean, It wasn't uncomfortable, it almost felt _natural_ the way our hands fit. GAH. Stop thinking of Sherlock so much. Sherlock looked like he was just dead in the seat next to me, blankly staring ahead, making no movement besides the occasional blinking and quick hand twitches.

Must be in his Mind Palace. I sighed, knowing I'll get no conversation from him for a while, I decided to try to delve into my own, newfound Mind Flat. Sherlock only laughed when I said it.

"_So if you have a Mind Palace….i must have something smaller, like…a Mind Flat." _I remember saying, then hearing his deep, throaty laugh that gave me little butterflies in the pit of my stomach. What to think about? That was easy. What am I _actually _feeling towards Sherlock?

I delved into my Mind Flat and wandered around. In a small backdoor, the words 'Sherlock Holmes' were etched permanently onto the door. I opened it and pondered around the cloud of thoughts and memories. First meeting Sherlock? No, too far back. Uh…

I looked around some more, then happened upon a few thoughts shoved into the corner of 'The Sherlock Holmes Room' and decided to have a look in the great big locked chest in the corner. I unlocked it and a huge burst of thoughts ran through my head.

Back in reality, I blinked, took a deep breath and closed my eyes again to "look around" again in Sherlock's room.

When I went back into my imaginational Mind Flat, the new thoughts were all moving fast paced and urgently. I pressed my ear to their little box of swarming thoughts and listened to my own past thoughts.

"_must just very be sleep deprived." _

"_that was way too close_. _These little slip-up moments where I accidentally express feelings more than best-friendship have been happening more frequently." _

"_I can't help but wonder what it'd feel like to kiss those perfectly sculpted lips" _

"_Can you not imagine how impossibly _tight _Sherlock is?" _

"_How easily he could reach his climax with just a few simple-" _

"_my blood boil at the thought of someone hurting Sherlock" _

"_It was cute how helpless and panicked Sherlock looked. Wait." _

Looking through these, and the many fantasies I couldn't help having whilst dreaming, I felt dirty, and I knew what I was keeping from myself. I was attracted to Sherlock. No doubt, Sherlock Holmes was a very sexy and provocative looking man, and the way his looks at you is like the coldest, sexiest daggers just plunged through your chest. But in a good way.

I knew I was attracted, I just wasn't sure as to what degree my level of attraction increased. I opened my eyes and left my Mind Flat, still thinking numbly.

Sherlock would never partake in a romantic involvement with me, so, what was the point?

**Sherlock POV**

John.

John, John, John.

Jawwwwn, John, John, JOHNJOHNJOHNJOHN.

John Watson.

JAWN Watson.

John.

Oi ve.

This isn't fair, I thought profoundly, Not fair at all. Why did John have to be so kind and caring and just….so damn adorable? Not to mention, very interesting. Which is a first for someone like me who doesn't like people in general, as they are boring, typical, and predictable. But not John, oh no, NOT John Watson.

John Watson wants to become a successful doctor to help people. I thrive to be a detective, but not a Private Detective, that's boring. I'd rather be one that works like the police work, but still be a detective. I'll think of a name later.

John Watson loves tea. I love coffe. Black with two sugars.

John is a sentimental man, always looking for a date. I am not sentimental whatsoever, as I believe that sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side. Sherlock Holmes does NOT lose.

John is the equator and I am the North and South Poles. Hot and cold, nice and mean, liked and disliked.

John Watson and I were worlds different, yet somehow we compliment each other like magnets. One negative charge magnet like myself is all fine and dandy, yet when the positive charge comes along, it just sticks. Like the cliché phrase of "opposites attract"

The plane landed and I suddenly became nervous. John had woken up from his nap a couple minutes before we began landing. John was going to meet my family. Mycroft is going to be a bother whenever he's there, Mummy and Daddy will be too busy to talk, but be very harsh worded and would assume things about John and I's relationship status. Everyone assumed things about us. Even I assumed things about our status.

"John." I barked out involuntarily when we were seated in the posh car. "I should warn you about my family…" I trailed my eyes off to the side, looking down now.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, Sherlock" John replied reassuringly. I sighed.

"It's not that simple. Mycroft is like a more annoying, heavier, more powerful version of myself. His name opens doors, and he is just as good at deducing things like I am. He's only a bit slower on things. My mother can do that as well, as can my father, but really, we get it from mummy. Father only learned how, and wasn't born with such brain capacity. To make up for it, he assumes everything and is cruel. Mummy is cruel with her deductions. John, you KNOW what they're going to think of us. Especially since, after we got your bag, you continued to hold my hand." I pointed out quickly, informing him of the oncoming storm. I saw him blush and shift uncomfortably.

"Sherlock, if you wanted to let go, you could've told me at any time. And I live with you quite easily, having people around who are like you, but cruel, should be easy" John responded hesitantly, watching his words.

"Crueler, you mean."

"What?" John looked over.

"Crueler, you mean to say. You said 'But cruel' implying that I, myself, am not a cruel person" I stated broadly.

"Because you're not." John claimed quickly, glaring holes into my cranium.

"John, please, I am I highly functioning-"

"'Sociopath who is particularly cruel to most everyone' he says for the hundredth time." John rolled his eyes as he interrupted my sentence. "Sherlock, no cruel person would take a day off to make sure I feel better from a hangover, or stays up all night to make sure I got good marks on my mid-term exams. I did, by the way, use your method, and I believe I will get a higher grade. Sherlock, do you remember that one time the rugby team called over to us that you turned me into a 'faggot'? Then you punched him in the face until he apologized?" I chuckled at this but motioned for him to go on "No totally cruel person does that for a friend. Nobody's EVER stood up for me the way you did. I'd hardly call that 'Cruel' by any standard" John finished. He turned his head to look out the window.

"Thank you." I mumbled.

Thank you, John Watson, for being the first person to draw out sentimental feelings and become the one person I wish to protect, love and care for. I smiled in content. Then my eyes snapped open.

Love?

_Love? _

_**Love? **_

_**LOVE? **_

Sherlock Holmes does not, and CAN NOT fall in love. It is physically impossible.

I looked over at John, and felt my pulse rise.

No. Oh, no.

I quickly glanced down at the reflection of myself in my phone and saw the dilated pupils.

No, please, GOD no.

I, Sherlock Holmes, am I love with John Hamish Watson and I'm not sure what to do about it.

I glanced down at my phone and broght up Google search on my phone. Time to find out what to do.

**Search: **_What to do when in love with another male and how to make him fall for you as well._


	7. Mum, Mycroft, and The Yelp

**Sherlock POV**

God, oh god. Here we go. The car pulled up to the Holmes Mansion in Venice, and John and I began walking to the door that flew open right as I was reaching for the knob.

"Sherlock, caro, bello averti a casa.(1)" **(AUTHOR NOTE: either use google translate or see translations at the bottom. I've numbered them.)** Mummy spoke clearly to me and hugged me awkwardly, obviously trying to look like a caring mother in front of John. I let my arms hang limp at my sides, with no intention of returning her embrace. She leaned over to whisper into my ear, "è questo il tuo nuovo ragazzo che Mycroft mi ha parlato?(2)"

My ears turned red and I answered back quickly "No, mamma, noi siamo solo amici. niente di più.(3)"

John stared awkwardly, clearly not knowing a word of Italian (Thank god) was so obviously confused.

"John, this is my Mum. Mum, this is my _friend_ John" I introduced quickly. Mum shook John's hand

"Very nice you meet you, dear. I've never met one of Sherlock's friends" Mum glanced at me and shot daggers into my eyes with her own. Her icy glare melted to a warm-hearted look when she faced John again.

"Oh, you speak English, good. Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Holmes." John greeted awkwardly, but relieved he understood what she was saying, her voice turning to a clean British accent.

"Come in." Mum stood aside and gestured at the open door, letting John step through first, Mum harshly grabbed my arm. "è meglio che non mettere in imbarazzo tuo padre, io, o Mycroft di fronte al resto della famiglia.(4)" She whispered harshly and I nodded quickly, following after John inside. I tapped his shoulder and began quickly pulling him towards the stairs. "quickly" I mumbled.

In the Holmes' house, doors are kept open if unoccupied, therefore you shall have no confusion if you wish to enter a bathroom or a bedroom and avoid any embarrassing or awkward moments. The only doors kept closed is my own door and Mycroft's door, as we are more inclined to privacy. In the case of Mycroft and I, we simply lock the door if we wish to not be disturbed.

So, going through the guest hallway and finding that ALL the guest bedroom doors are closed is an inconvenience to say at the least.

We passed by Mum again on the way to the hallway with the main bedrooms and I quickly spoke with her.

"Madre, perché tutte le camere degli ospiti occupato? (5)" I hissed quickly.

"Beh, il resto della famiglia è qui. Ho pensato che questo sarebbe bene perché tu e il tuo ragazzo sarebbe in grado di dormire nello stesso letto senza alcun problema. (6)" She responded hastily. Even though she seemed as though she was apologetic, I could hear the smirk in her words.

"Did Mycroft tell you that lie about John and I?" I asked demandingly. Why did I ask? Of course it was Mycroft. He must've assumed he walked in on something that happened regularly when he walked in on us.

"Well yes, darling. I'm sure he didn't mean it. Mycroft was always such a fantastic child. I wish you'd be more like him, Sherlock. You'd be less of a disappointment." She replied coldly and I heard John shift behind me. I blinked, used to the words, and listened to the clack of heels as she walked away. I bit my lower lip and took a deep breath. I turned and saw John staring at me. I didn't say anything, knowing he heard and understood what Mother had to say. I cleared my throat and pulled his sleeve a bit to indicate to follow me to my bedroom.

I opened my door, let him in, then closed the door behind me, leaning against the door.

"You will be staying here." I said simply. I could tell what he was doing, though. He was looking around the room, probably triple the size of our dorm and with a California king bed placed in the far corner. Posters of the periodic table, the scientific method, and many other educational ones were hung around the room, and a yellow smiley face spray painted on the wall just to the right of my bed. I remember shooting at it with a bow and arrow as a kid then moving forward to actual pistols as I grew older.

"This is your room, Sherlock." John said only moments after we walked in. "I could tell. It's just so…you. There's even a full chemistry lab in the corner." He pointed at the lab.

"Well, yes. This is my room. We, uh," I cleared my throat, "Will be staying here together actually. Seems as though my brother has told my parents that you and I are in a romantic partnership and they assumed it would be alright. My extended relatives are here, unexpectedly, so we have no other choice."

John blinked then nodded, shrugged and put down his bag next to my desk. "Alright, then. I mean your bed is certainly big enough for the both of us." He laughed awkwardly then paused "Sherlock, does your mother always treat you like that? Telling you that you are a disappointment to your family?"

I nodded quietly, then walked across the room and set my phone and wallet on my bedside table and threw my coat and scarf into my closet carelessly. I felt two strong arm wrap around my torso from behind, and classified it as John hugging me. I nearly froze on the contact, and relaxed into his embrace.

"Sherlock, don't believe her. You're a very important person to me, and you matter." I felt my heart pick up its pace at his words of comfort.

"Thank you, John." I replied, a small smile teasing its way onto my face. He let go and stretched.

"That flight left me stiff in the back" He groaned as he stretched. I smiled at him and jabbed him in the stomach as he had his guard down. He scrunched up quickly, and let out a quick yelp as he did so.

"Sherlock!" He laughed, and I smirked.

"Was that a girlish _yelp_ I heard come from your mouth, John Watson?" I teased as my smirk grew. He glared at me, clearly embarrassed.

"It was NOT a _yelp, _Sherlock. I was just surprised and i…um…" He fumbled in his explanation and I shrugged as I finished for him "You yelped like a schoolgirl" I casually stated.

We stared each other for a good minute before breaking into gut-wrenching laughter. I wiped a tear from my eye as we laughed so hard we were both crying and falling on each other. When the laughter calmed down to a chuckle, John responded, wiping his tear soaked eyes.

"I'll- I'll get you back for that, Sherlock" He laughed out as threateningly as he could as we laughed.

"Oh really?" I threw back at him. We were laughing still, even when John pushed me on the bed, and pinned me down, tickling my sides, until I was laughing and crying.

"J-John, st-stop! Please!" I yelled through my laughter, trying to swat away his hands. He continued tickling me, whilst I cried and laughed. Once I finally pushed his hands away, I threw him off me so he was now on his back next to me on the bed. Once the laughter had ceased, I heard Mum call to us from outside the door.

"Sherlock, John, are you alright? I heard a loud bang from down the hall." She inquired from the other side of the door, resulting in John and I to look at each other, and begin laughing again. I called back that we were fine through our laughter.

"Okay, dear. Dinner is in five minutes, boys." She called back. When our laughter finally stopped for good, it had been five minutes.

"So, John, how do you like my house so far?" I asked casually.

"It's huge, Sherlock. It's very posh, as well." He answered easily. "So…does your entire family attend dinner?" John was obviously tense at the thought of meeting everyone.

"Actually, yes. But don't worry, you can sit next to me." I smiled and nudged him playfully. "they're all as cold and as calculating as my mother is to me. So 'Beware the Holmes family, John'" I said, quoting Sally Donovan. We snickered at the thought and walked down to meet the family in the dining hall.

In the hallway, Mycroft left his room the same time as John and I left mine and Mycroft and I walked side by side, John trailing beside me.

"Mycroft" I greeted coldly. I saw John turn his head quickly, probably to see who the infamous 'Mycroft Holmes' was.

"Sherlock. John." Mycroft nodded and greeted equally as coldly.

"You told Mummy John and I are in a romantic relationship." I interjectedvenomously.

"I also told her that you lost your virginity to him on the second week. It was only payback, dear brother." He responded coolly and I glared.

"For what?"

"For when you threw a homemade bomb into my room before you left for Uni, and I had to tediously defuse it. That was irritating, Sherlock."

John gaped beside me and looked between Mycroft and I.

"Mycroft, that was pay back from when you told father that I was gay before I was ready to tell him."

"I only did that because you released maggots into my room, Sherlock."

"I did that because you told the extended family that I enjoyed shagging with dead bodies before i perform experiments on them."

"Brother, dear, before that, you told Mum and Dad that I was dating Lestrade when I had claimed to be straight in front of them."

"it's not my fault you lie to Mum and Dad. It's not like they believed me anyways, Mycroft, so why bother. Besides, you gave me scrambled lizard eggs once for breakfast, even though I noticed they were discolored before I actually consumed them. I was merely evening the score."

We scowled at each other before Mycroft sped up his pace and I slowed mine down so we should be separated. John stared at Mycroft's back.

"Sherlock….you're gay? And another thing, you threw a ticking bomb into his room? AND released maggots into his room? Geez, Sherlock. You two are brutal to each other." John claimed when Mycroft had turned the corner.

"Yes, John, I did all of that to my brother. And yes, if I HAD to chose a sexuality, I would most certainly be gay. Does that change anything?" I replied hastily, looking over to examine John's expression.

"No, um. That's fine, actually. It's great." He smiled, and I detected a small tinge of pink dusting his cheeks.

"Shall we go to dinner, Mr. Watson?" I said in a mock-snobbish tone, trying to make him smile. My plan to capture his affection will come into play tonight after dinner.

"We shall." He said in the same mock-tone and smiled as we walked into the dining hall, laughing.

**~TRANSLATIONS~ **

Sherlock, dear, good to have you home

This is your new boyfriend that Mycroft told me about?

No, Mum, we're just friends. nothing more.

You'd better not embarrass your father, I, or Mycroft in front of the rest of the family.

Mother, why are all guest rooms occupied?

Well, the rest of the family is here. I thought this would be good for you and your boyfriend would be able to sleep in the same bed without a problem.


	8. Let's Have Dinner

I can't take this. I looked over at Sherlock who was shifting food around his plate, probably not planning on eating it. I've never actually seen him eat. The rest of the Holmes' were all staring at me and Sherlock, and then came the questions. Let's say the Holmes family is very…they aren't….very blunt.

"How long have you been shagging my nephew?" A woman (who I guessed was his aunt. Obviously) jeered impolitely. I nearly choked on the water I had been sipping.

"Wha-What? We're not….No. We're not…together" I tried to say, only coughing between most words. Sherlock gave me a look and pat my back a little awkwardly as I coughed. When I have stopped coughing, Sherlock's arms and legs had both gone back to being crossed and he had an icy, cold, unforgiving glare on his expression.

"You don't have to lie, dear. It's alright to be embarrassed of Sherlock, I mean, everyone is." Sherlock's mother added quickly and the table of Holmes' all started at smile and chuckle as if it wasn't cruel. I looked at Sherlock and the fiery stare had stayed prominent on his features.

"I'm not embarrassed of Sherlock. He's my best friend." I admitted earnestly. The table just stared, including Sherlock. I think this was the first time I've said that he was my best friend out loud. We've only referred to each other as 'friends' in each other's company. I've said he was my best friend to Lestrade, but I don't think I've ever told Sherlock that.

"Well do you think you will ever engage in a romantic relationship with my son?" Mr. Holmes (Sherlock's dad) questioned and the whole table fell silent. All eyes were on me, and I'm sure they were trying to deduce the answer out of me.

"If I'm going to be completely honest, I would have to say…maybe." I announced honestly. I saw Sherlock do a spit take in the corner of my eye, turning to the side so he wouldn't get anything on anyone. "I mean the way things are going, one day, something could happen. I mean I'm not straight, I'm bisexual, so it really is a possibility. I don't spend my time with anyone else, either. His experiments and deductions scare off any dates i have ever had, and we're best friends. It happens all the time in those movies. But then again, we could end up not liking each other after one of our rows about countless things like leaving disembodied fingers all over the floor." I shot a glare at Sherlock, and he narrowed his eyes "But I can see it, I guess." I finished, looking down at my plate.

"Good." Sherlock's mother said after a couple moments. "Sherlock, this one's a keeper. And John, you're welcome back any time you like. I couldn't imagine anyone better for my son, even though he's not much to begin with. I almost like you better than Sherlock himself!" She laughed.

The table chuckled again, and I just sat there. Sherlock and I being the only ones not laughing. I bit my lip and looked over at him, and he was practically gaping at me. I remember Sherlock saying once that the only language his family didn't know, was the only one I did know. Latin.

"Sherlock." I whispered quickly as the butlers brought out dessert. "es vos Licuit? (1)" I spoke in the clearest Latin I could manage. He looked over at me.

"ego sum Licuit.(2)" He whispered back and looked around. "cur vobis dicere possemus una die esse romantically implicari?(3)"

I paused. Why did I say that?

"quia forte dies unus…..(4)" I trailed off and looked away. I snuck a glance at Sherlock's face, which has grown visibly redder. I decided to leave it at that. Dessert was given (Chocolate cake with vanilla butter cream frosting and raspberry sauce) and many of the Holmes' were very…VERY drunk. Sherlock says they do this because they cannot handle having so much going on in their heads. He calls them weak for that.

"Let's all play a game!" one of them shouted, and earned a very hearty agreement among the family. Sherlock, Mycroft, and I were probably the only completely sober ones there. We all filed into the sitting room. Sherlock and I ended up being squeezed onto one of the smaller couches together and couldn't NOT touch each other at least shoulder-to-shoulder.

"Alright! Truth, or dare, Mycroft?" Sherlock's mother slurred elegantly. Mycroft sighed and pulled up a chair next to Sherlock's side of the small couch.

"Truth." He replied blandly. The room murmured and I got a strange sense that everyone judged everyone on everything in the family.

"What are your actual feelings towards Sherlock?" Their father inquired. I tensed up and Sherlock sighed, like this was normal. I whispered to him "Do they _always _pick on you?" He nodded. I felt another pang of guilt and worry go out to Sherlock. I'm almost positive I'm in love with the poor sod, and I ahte seeing him upset. I'm in love with Sherlock? I mentally sighed. Why not, right? Everyone already thinks we're shagging. What difference does it make if it actually happens? Shagging Sherlock? Shagging Sherlock Holmes.

Oh, god.

"I'd have to say, he's a right git, irresponsible, too rambunctious, not too great looking if you ask me, and too unpredictable and a bit mentally unstable. Though, he is very smart." Mycroft drawled out pathetically. It was sad how they all thought so low of him. "John, truth or dare?" Mycroft looked over mischievously at me.

"Dare" I knew he'd ask about Sherlock, and I'm not playing that game.

"Kiss Sherlock on his face. Anywhere on his face except the cheek, forehead, nose, or chin, and it has to be for thirty seconds." Mycroft dared, with a evil look in his eyes. The room whooped and cheered drunkly. I drew in a breath and after sneering at Mycroft, I leaned in and kissed Sherlock full on the mouth. He froze for the first fifteen seconds, and then kissed back gently. It would be an absolute lie if I said I hadn't enjoyed it wholeheartedly. I loved it. It was the best kiss I've ever had. Then it was over.

It was just bloody over. Thirty seconds were up, and I pulled back the same time as Sherlock. The room was staring. Just staring.

"Sherlock, truth or dare?" I asked quickly, breaking the silence.

"Truth." He said weakly. I realized what I had done. I just took Sherlock's first kiss. What if he wanted to let someone else do it? I felt horrible.

"What was the best experiment you ever pulled in Uni?" I asked casually, still guilty on the inside. Why had I done that? That was stupid. I could've kissed his eyebrow or something, maybe even his eyelid.

"The one….with the plants." He said quickly then got up and dashed out of the room. I cursed and excused myself, then followed after him.

"Sherlock!" I hissed, trying not to shout to alarm the rest of the residents. He had disappeared behind some doors somewhere. "Sherlock, I'm sorry!" I hissed again, then burst into his room, finding no Sherlock. I sighed.

Where did he go? He could be anywhere in this accursed mansion.

"He's probably in the music room. He left his violin back at the room in the University, I presume. I'd say he's in the music room playing piano." Mycroft declared, materializing out of nowhere. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Where is that?" I asked, now annoyed.

He smiled "Down the hallway on your left, then the last door on the right." He explained smugly.

"This is all your fault, you know." I growled and passed by him without another word. I ran to the room unknowingly.

**~meanwhile-Mycroft POV~ **

Idiots. Sherlock takes showers when he's angry or confused.

I smirked to myself at the clever plot I had. Mary-Ella Holmes (our cousin) came up behind me, she was also sober.

"They're so obviously in love, but yet so oblivious at the same time. What are you plotting, cousin?" She inquired. I smiled thoughtfully at her and began thinking for a moment before responding.

"I'm plotting to break down Sherlock's walls. John seems to be getting through to him. As they say in theater, we need to 'break the fourth wall' and bring Sherlock out of his shell. I think John might just be the perfect solution to Sherlock's inner dilemma." I responded easily. Mary-Ella nodded.

"Be careful, this could make or break Sherlock. If he chooses not to express his feelings…" she noted. I bit my lip nervously.

"I know."

**~TRANSLATIONS~ **

are you alright? **(1)**

I am alright **(2)**

why do you say that one day we could be romantically involved? **(3)**

because perhaps one day….**(4)**


	9. Kiss Me at Midnight

I skidded down the hallway and barged in, unannounced, which was my first mistake because…well Mycroft was right, Sherlock WAS in here, but this isn't the music room. This is the bathroom.

My second mistake was getting flustered before he knew I was there and banging the door shut.

My third mistake was talking.

"Sh-Sherlock….A-Are you naked?" I stammered clumsily. I was being stupid. Of course he was. Stupid, stupid, _stupid. _

"John?!" I heard Sherlock yell in surprise. "What are you doing in here!?" He shouted over the sound of the shower.

"M-Mycroft told me you were in here…but he didn't say this was a b-bathroom." I stuttered quickly, then heard Sherlock sigh.

"Hand me a towel." He said after stopping the shower, poking and expectant hand out from the curtain. I took a deep breath to keep from hyperventilating, then handed the demanding hand a plush black towel. He took it and let out a frustrated sigh, mumbling something about killing Mycroft.

My fourth mistake was probably letting out a barely audible moan when Sherlock stepped out of the shower, clad in only the black towel. He looked so delectable with the water dripping down his bare torso, and teasingly disappearing underneath, his hair was partially straight from his curls being weighted down with water, but as it dried, the curls began coming back. His torso was muscular, I could see a faint like of a six-pack on his stomach, but I directed my eyes away before I could really figure out if that was true.

"What is it? You obviously had something important to say." Sherlock addressed casually like he wasn't standing naked in front of me.

"W-Well…I…" I croaked "Um…I forgot…" I finished, looking down his bare chest, wanted desperately to just touch it. My eyes grazed over his skin and, yes, that is a six-pack. Sherlock Holmes is bloody attractive. I thought I saw him blush a little bit as I looked him over, but I was too distracted.

"I'll…be in your room." I grumbled awkwardly before running out of the room, back to Sherlock's, now actually hyperventilating. The suppressed thoughts of Sherlock and I doing….inappropriate actions in a….bed…actually had a body. I can picture running my tanned hand across his smooth, pale, soft skin on his chest, kissing his neck and giving love bites as he moaned my name from underneath me.

I can practically hear him screaming my name in ecstasy over and over and the perfect "o" shape his lips will make when he finally comes all over-

STOP. John Watson, stop this right now. Sherlock bloody Holmes is your roommate and best friend who will probably push you away if you EVER even suggested that sort of action in any way. Sherlock is "married to his work" and you are bisexual, meaning you could still go for any girl you chose. You are John Watson who had girls lining up in his last years before Uni. You can get anyone you want. Why do you want Sherlock Holmes?

"Because he's gorgeous on the inside and out" I whimpered mentally to myself. God, I love him to pieces. Even when he wakes me up at 2am because he's bored. Even when he takes my favorite jam for the experiment with the toads.

Even when we fight. We've had a couple of disputes every week over small things.

"_Sherlock, the room is a mess!" "for SCIENCE, John!" _

"_Sherlock, what have I told you about severed limbs on my bed?" "John, they can't go on MY bed. Obviously" _

"_Sherlock, why do you insist on waking me up at 4am to play Cluedo?!" "Because I'm bored. And my skull can't play." _

I laughed to myself remembering all the stupid little fights. I also remembered how many times we've stood up for each other. People talk when you're friends with a high functioning sociopath who has clearly stated before that he doesn't need friends, no matter how many times I tell him that friends protect you.

Sherlock is a marvel to behold, and I absolutely, irrevocably, and madly love him like I've never loved anything else.

I sighed and flopped down on the large bed after putting on my sleep wear. I curled up on my side of Sherlock's large bed. A few minutes later, he came in and lied down on his side wordlessly.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." I whispered through the darkness of the room. I heard him shift, and I looked over and saw his pale blue eyes through the dark only faintly looking at me.

"For what?" He replied quietly. I sighed and faced him as well.

"For kissing you like that in front of your family. I'm sure you wanted to had your first kiss with someone you really liked in a place more private, or something. Maybe you knew who you wanted it to be with…I'm sorry." I explained in a hushed tone as I saw his eyes studying my face.

"No, it's fine. I can't think of anyone else I trust enough to give me my first kiss….it was…" I saw him turn a dark red even through the darkness. "S-Satisfactory….well…more than satisfactory, but…" He trailed off his words and turned his back to me, trying to hide his blush. So he _did _like the kiss. It wasn't just me in blissful heaven.

"Sherlock…I think we should talk about thi-"

"No, John. We shouldn't." Sherlock interrupted, turning around faster than I could blink, ending up closer to me than before, then immediately getting flustered, and didn't move away.

"Why not?" I looked down to his perfect cupid's bow needingly. I knew it was obvious how much I wanted him right now, but it didn't particularly matter at the moment. I looked back into his eyes after he licked his lips.

"Because it was a dare." Sherlock hesitated before turning away, and muttered something along the lines of 'Goodnight, John'

I sighed. No use getting any answers from him. "Goodnight, Sherlock" I responded quietly and turned over, turning my back to Sherlock.

The next couple days were easy, and had a certain routine. Wake up awkwardly close to one another, get dressed, go down for breakfast, Sherlock gets made fun of, we go back to his room, I console him, then we play cluedo. After that, we'd go down for a snack, then this is practically our 'whatever-amuses-us-first' time, usually playing hide and seek or going for walks (something usually childish with some deeper meaning to see if Sherlock could, in fact, deduce where I am hiding), after that, it's around dinner, we eat dinner, they make fun of Sherlock some more, I whisper comforting things to him, the family plays some weird game that we only participate in half of the time, then we take our separate showers and go to bed.

On Christmas Eve, they had a bigger dinner and dessert than usual and I made Sherlock eat more than usual as well. After that, the adults insisted on listening to Christmas music and talking about old family memories and tell embarrassing things about Sherlock, to which he always had a witty remark and/or a sentence or two about their own embarrassing moments. Then we all went to bed.

Sherlock and I slept in on Christmas day, then exchanged gifts when we woke up. I got him a new microscope and a new test tube (he broke on of his old ones), and he gave me a new laptop considering I usually steal his when mine doesn't work.

Now, it was New Year's Eve, and Sherlock kept looking at me with predatory glances every hour closer to midnight. I was getting scared.

At 11:00pm, I finally asked.

"Sherlock, why on earth do you keep staring at me?" I asked, now very irritated. He tried to look innocent. What a strange guy.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He smiled at me with evil purpose. I don't trust that smile.

At 11:50pm, we were all watching the big grandfather clock in the sitting room. I sighed and looked over at Sherlock.

"This is the first year I won't be kissing anyone on New Year's. I'd always kiss my mum or something. Last year it was some girl and same with the year before." I laughed. Sherlock fidgeted in his chair.

"I've never been kissed at midnight, or anything." He mumbled so nobody else would hear. I figured that, since I was his first kiss, but I was still surprised he didn't give his mum a peck or something. I looked at him and pat his shoulder.

"It's okay, lot's of people haven't." I said nicely, and he nodded.

At 11:58pm Sherlock turned to me.

"Did you enjoy our kiss?" He asked quietly so only I would hear. I looked away from the clock that just showed 11:59.

"Of course I did. Why do you ask?" I looked him over skeptically, blushing at bit against my will. 30 seconds to midnight. I looked back to the clock.

10…9…8…7….6….5….4…3…2…..1!

I felt two hands go behind my neck and yank at my head. I flew towards the direction of the tug, and my lips ended up pressed against another pair. A cupid's bow, and a heavenly kisser. It was obviously Sherlock. I suddenly understood why he was so nervous earlier.

He pulled away and smiled at me. I looked around, and nobody had actually seen that (thank god). I blinked, dumbfounded, and looked back to Sherlock, who wasn't there and was walking back down the hallway to his room calmly.

"Happy New Year, John!" He called over his shoulder and walked into his room to sleep. I shook my head and followed after him. What a strange guy, indeed.


	10. Coming Home to Moriarty

After New Year's we only had one more day of the holiday left. I was actually going to miss the Holmes' estate.

There was an actual chance that I'd never see any of them again (with the exception of maybe Mycroft), so it was natural to feel some sort of sentiment. Don't get me wrong, I hated how they treated Sherlock. I just liked being here with Sherlock and not having to worry about other people hurting him physically, or yelling at him and calling him names like at school. I liked having Sherlock to myself, and having most of his attention. It was nice.

As I packed my bags, I noticed all my clothes had already been washed. It was probably Sherlock's maids who were actually quite fond of the two of us. I smiled and packed up all my things while Sherlock waited outside. I noticed the microscope I got him is no where to be found, along with the test tube. I furrowed my eyebrow and shrugged. Maybe he just didn't want them.

I walked out to the car where Sherlock had been waiting, once again with his blue scarf and long jacket. I smiled at the familiar look and put my duffle in the trunk with another smaller bag. I looked at it curiously and sneaked a peek inside. There lied the microscope and the test tube, wrapped up carefully so neither would break on the way there. I smiled and closed the bag and the trunk and slid in the car next to Sherlock.

When we (finally) got on the plane, we sat next to each other, Sherlock by the window, looking outside. I put on a small smile and sat down, then drummed my fingers on my leg. When we were to fasten our seat belts, we did, then Sherlock reached over and laced his fingers with mine, still looking out the window.

This should be and easy ride. I yawned and leaned back against the back of the seat, feeling oddly tired after getting up early at 4am to catch the damn plane.

**Sherlock POV**

John seemed to have reacted well to both kisses, the sight of my naked torso, and the hand holding. He also openly said we could end up together if things keep up like this. I smiled to myself as I analyzed how the holiday went.

I suddenly felt an object fall onto my shoulder. My head snapped over to find John's head on my shoulder, him sleeping peacefully, and snoring very, very quietly. I smiled and felt a wave of exhaustion hit me. Damn human needs…

When I woke up, the plane ride was over and my head was laid on top of John's. As I moved my head back to being straight, I heard a crack from my neck, feeling very stiff from sleeping at such an odd position. I looked down at sleeping John, very innocent and very cute, and unfortunately woke him up.

"John, the ride's over." I smiled tiredly at him. He rubbed his also stiff neck and got up slowly, still tired. I grabbed his bag and mine from bag check and carried it for him as he shuffled behind me, mumbling something about how 'You didn't have to do that for me, Sherlock' and yawning.

I carried them to the car and put them in the trunk. I slid into the seat next to John and noticed him start to doze off again. I slid closer and laid his head on my shoulder again at a more comfortable angle. I noticed about halfway through the ride that John had wrapped an arm around my arm and was cuddling with it. I chuckled at his childishness and woke him up when we started down the driveway to the school.

For once, I wish I were still on holiday, back at home. Except John had to be there.

He woke up slowly, detaching himself from me, embarrassed. I looked out the window as we pulled up to the drop-off area. I strode back to the trunk and picked up John's duffel and my bag and walked inside, John following behind, much more awake now.

"Sherlock, you don't have to carry that for me, I'm perfectly capable to do it myself."

I sighed. Too much protesting to my kind gesture. "Fine." I shrugged then gave him his bag.

"Look, boys! The freak's back from his holiday!" Shouted an obnoxious voice. Anderson. I heard foot steps behind me, as if he were approaching me until I heard quicker ones and I turned around.

Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran had intercepted Anderson and his friends. I swallowed thickly then grabbed John's arm, pulling him along quicker, now basically running back to 221B.

"John, move quicker." I hissed at him. He gave me a look.

"Sherlock, not all of us have amazingly long legs." He retorted as we passed through the doorway to 221B. I closed the door quickly and locked it. I sighed with relief.

"What was that all about?" John asked quickly. I looked up at him hesitantly.

"Nothing. I'm just….very excited to be back in our little home" I said with a quick smile.

Moriarty cannot ruin my plans with John. He just can't. It's not going to happen.

I won't let it happen. I heard a knock on the door and turned around quickly, staring at the door. I heard John begin to walk over to open it but I stopped him, putting my hand on his firm chest. I looked at him with a look that just screamed 'DON'T' and waited.

"Sherlock~! Don't hide from me, Sherly!" Jim called from the other side of the door in his sing-song voice. I swallowed thickly again and looked over at John for reassurance.

"I gave you my number. You never called." He said, slightly less cheerful. This was going to get interesting.


	11. Don't Be Jealous, You're More Important

I held in a deep breath when Sherlock put his hand on my chest to stop me from going to the door. I looked up at him helplessly and very confused. What's so bad about Jim Moriarty? I heard Sherlock mention him once about how he's in two of his afternoon classes. I think he said he's in his Math and Chemistry classes. That must mean they're both bloody brilliant.

"I'm disappointed in you, Sherly." He hummed from the other side of the door. "I thought you cared for me, like I do for you." Sherlock looked shell-shocked. He bounded to the door and retched it open swiftly.

"You know your emotions were ALWAYS one-sided, James," Sherlock sneered. "And remember what I said. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the loosing side." I looked on, dumbfounded. I know Sherlock skipped a grade and was in his second year at Uni, while I was at my first (even though we're the same age), but what had Sherlock's University life been like before I came around? Lonely maybe?

Unless Jim was always around when Sherlock's other roommate moved out. Something inside me boiled with green, envious, bile and I tensed up a bit. Moriarty looked over at me and smirked, then back to Sherlock.

"I see you've found a little pet. I should get myself a live-in one. That would be so funny." Moriarty pondered cheerfully to himself. Sherlock looked like he was about to hit or kiss Moriarty.

"John has nothing to do with this. Leave him out of our business, and don't interfere with our lives. It'd be wise of you to stay away from John Hamish Watson." He commented venomously. I blinked and realized what emotion Sherlock is portraying. Protectiveness. It was endearing and it just made me want you hug him tightly and let him protect me. Though, I have no need for protecting.

Moriarty made a move to come inside and Sherlock blocked him, looking particularly disgusted.

"I was in a perfectly good mood, then you came along. I had an…" Sherlock glanced at me "Experiment in place. I was doing something. Now get out, before I make you." Sherlock seemed almost predatory now, ready to kill the prey in front of him, like a lion stalking a great elk.

"Fine, then. But don't think I won't text you. Sorry….wrong day to chat, I guess." Moriarty began walking down the hallway and Sherlock stayed quiet.

"Catch…you….later…" He murmured until finally slamming the door closed and locking it. He turned to face me, his back now against the door.

"Sherlock, what was all that about?" did they date? I, once again, felt a little jealous that Moriarty had Sherlock before me, and Sherlock had someone other than me to have as a companion. Moriarty was older in years, but took our English class. I sighed.

"We….were together in some form of the word." Sherlock said finally. Of course. On the inside I started tearing up the room and screaming, then set off to kill Jim Moriarty, but on the outside I just stood there.

"So…you…dated?" I drawled out innocently. I needed to know. I want Sherlock to be mine.

"Not…really." Sherlock looked almost unsure of himself. "He cared for me in a more intimate way than I cared for him, and I wouldn't particularly care when he'd try and kiss me, or when he'd hug me or call me brilliant. We never actually kissed on the lips, he just would kiss my…face and hold my hand when we walked. We could be a couple, but I didn't care for him in that way. Then one day, I saw him hanging around with those rugby players, telling rumors and secrets about me that I trusted him with. My social status dramatically hit 'rock bottom' and we never talked again. He would hit me and abuse me though, so I wouldn't call him loving. We are intellectual equals. That was the only reason I'd stay around him. Nothing serious, John, no need to be jealous of Moriarty." Sherlock smirked at the end when he saw my face turn red.

He is infuriatingly observant.

"I am NOT jealous, Sherlock, we're not even together. Besides, he never kissed you on the lips, and I have. Twice, actually. So even if we were to be together, I'm already milestones away from him. Also, on top of that, you and I would be dating while he just looked on, wishing he could have what I have." I shrugged, then blushed. "I mean, what I WOULD have…if we were in that situation. I'm not saying I have you NOW, I'm just saying…if that…were true…." I finished lamely.

My shoulders sagged. How can I live with this man? He laughed and ruffled my hair as he walked by. I glared at his back for a moment before beginning to unpack. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Sherlock had dramatically dropped his old microscope into the rubbish and placed his new one from me where it had been, smiling to himself fondly at the gift. My mood brightened and unpacked with a faint smile on.

"John…if we were dating, hypothetically, I mean, would you be unhappy in the relationship?" Sherlock asked suddenly. I spun around and looked at him.

"Why?" I questioned quickly. He sighed in frustration and walked over, closer to me.

"Do not answer my question with a question. Would you be happy?" Sherlock asked again, this time, more demanding.

"Yes, of course. I mean if I were to, hypothetically of course, ask you out, I would've put thought into doing so beforehand and I'd be sure of my decision to begin a relationship with you. I'd say 'Screw what others have to say, and let's just be together' because I know if I wanted to and never did, I'd be upset with myself that I could had something great." I blushed then added "Hypothetically, of course."

He nodded slowly, his eyes locked with mine. "Hypothetically" he replied evenly. We gazed into each otther's eyes for a couple more seconds before he finally broke the silence. "What if you really loved a person, and you want to take it farther in the relationship, but you don't want to ruin the friendship you have?" He inquired nervously. My heart pumped a tick faster and my lips parted a bit.

"You could try anyways." I paused, taking a deep breath. "Maybe they'll say yes…"

"Are we still speaking hypothetically?" He interjected quietly.

"Are we?" I questioned back. I could practically feel the sexual tension in the air. Whether it was mine, or Sherlock's I couldn't tell.

"Do you want to be?"

I blinked and thought for a moment. Is he asking me out? Is THE Sherlock Holmes asking if I want to be romantically involved? Wake up every morning, possibly cuddled up with the most absurd man I've ever met? Do I honestly want to be able to kiss him all the time, tell him how much I love and need him, and possibly spend every second of my time with him? Go every where with him? Possibly participate in sexual intercourse with the pale angel? Have a warrant to touch him? Protect him from the world? Face the world together?

Can I deal with being romantically involved with him? Do I want to take him out on dates? Hold his hand and show him off in public? Be the only one to actually be with him?

Do I want this?

Do I want him?

Everyone already believes we're together, and I mean, why not date Sherlock? We can do everything and anything together. I'll be the one that got him. I'll be the only exception to his detachment from sentiment and overall emotions in general.

I'll be the one dating Sherlock Holmes.

But what if he says no? What if he really is speaking hypothetically? Or worse, he knows my feelings and the whole time, he's been kissing me, and being around me purely for my own enjoyment and so he wouldn't lose his best friend? What if this is all an experiment? What if this is just a game to him?

What would become of us?

I'd be risking everything. I thought more, and began leaning to the 'Don't date him' way until I looked into the pale blue eyes. I saw a future there. I saw his raw emotion. I saw…everything.

So…here I am. With the biggest question of all.

"Sherlock Holmes, do you want to go out…with me…?"


	12. Oh, God, Yes

"Sherlock Holmes, do you want to go out…with me…?"

He practically froze on the spot. Then a couple things happened to him.

First, he looked extremely excited for about ten seconds, looking like he was about to say something.

Second, his face dropped like a bomb and he looked devastated for half the amount of time he looked excited.

Third, he looked frustrated and began pacing.

Fourth, he stopped pacing, his face turned emotionless and he quickly walked straight over to me, took me by the shoulders and kissed me hard on the lips. I kissed back instantly, pulling him closer by his hips, begging for more.

Fifth, he actually broke away after a while, looking pretty dazed.

"I wanted to be the one to ask you. Obviously." He said, almost coldly. He glared at me about as effective as a kitten glaring.

I laughed until my sides hurt while he just watched, I kept on laughing, making him start chuckling. We ended up crying from laughter on the floor, leaning against each other. This turned from romantic moment to ridiculous idiotic memories in about a span of 4 seconds.

As we were laughing, I laced my fingers together with his. He only noticed when we stopped laughing that we were holding hands.

"So, Sherlock. Is that a yes?" I replied calmly, still a bit smile-y from the laughing montage. He smiled fondly and squeezed my hand quickly.

"Obviously"

I leaned over and kissed him lovingly on the cheek. "How long have you felt this way?" I asked, suddenly very curious. He blinked, not really showing too much emotion as always, and looked at me as if I had two heads.

"Isn't it obvious? Since you saved me." He said quickly, yet somewhat hesitant. When did I save him? I don't remember stopped TOO many of the punches (only because I wasn't always there to block them, or scare away the poor sod who'd decided to cross Sherlock under my watchful eye) and I don't remember giving him CPR until he was breathing again. Or even taking him to a hospital when he was in critical condition. My face must've said it all, because he smiled softly.

"I meant metaphorically, John. You made me better, of course." He said almost fondly. That was probably as close to a compliment as I'm going to get for a while.

Keeping my fingers interlocked with his, I stood up and sat on the bed instead of the floor because my bum was getting quite sore. Sherlock immediately followed, out of mutual pain, or just to be close, I'll never really know, because next thing I knew, his lips were on mine, and that was all that really mattered.

That night we had slept in the same bed and spent most of our day back snogging and just overall touching anywhere we could get our hands. I'm sure I've touched Sherlock in every place possible while still keeping most of his clothes on. Shirts were forgotten long ago, of course, but trousers and pants stayed in place. We ended up only losing the trousers to sleep in the same bed that night (Sherlock's bed, actually, because it was more comfortable).

When I woke up, though, he wasn't there. I sighed to myself, wishing he could've just stayed long enough for me to wake up with him. I rolled my eyes, knowing it would be difficult – but worth it, obviously.

I sat up and saw him on the floor, cross-legged, hands-on-knees, surrounded by candles, and his eyes were closed peacefully. Is he meditating? I looked at him curiously and noticed his had, unfortunately, put all of his clothes back on.

Another reason why I would've like for him to stay in bed with me. It's not like we had classes today, anyways. What are we supposed to do all day? I laid back down, thinking to myself about what to do. We could go to the cinema, for a movie, although Sherlock might find it boring to sit through. Maybe he could sit through The Hobbit, which I heard would be good. Probably not.

We could stay in all day. And do what? Snog and play bored games like cluedo? No, he'd get bored with the games and only doing one thing.

We could go out for the day. Go for a walk together, and I could have him deduce everyone for me…

That actually doesn't sound too bad.

"Sherlock?" I called quietly, hoping not to disturb him if he really IS meditating. He blew out the candles and turned around to me

"If you're going to propose either a stay-in day or a cinema, I refuse. They sound mostly boring. We stay in all the time and the cinema is dull, and the plot of the film is predicable." He commented coldly. I smiled a bit. He thinks he knows, but I'll surprise him.

"I was actually thinking we could go for a walk around campus and you can deduce people for me. I love watching you deduce people and them sometimes make them cry if you actually say it to their face." I replied cheerfully. He blinked and smiled a bit.

"Really?" He questioned awkwardly, as if he didn't believe I'd actually want that.

"Yes really-" My sentence was stopped short when we heard a gunshot. Our heads both turned quickly to face the window, and we both jumped at the window. We leaned in and looked out the window cautiously. I looked down in the courtyard and saw someone laying dead in the grass.

"Sherlock, look!" I pointed to the dead man and looked at him. Fred Bigby was dead. I heard police sirens suddenly go on about a mile away and begin to get closer. A couple minutes later, a group of students were gathered near the body and the teachers.

"Lestrade Senior is here." Sherlock smiled eagerly. He ordered me to get dressed and ran around the dorm looking for some things. Leather gloves, tiny magnifying glass, big black coat and blue scarf.

Once I was dressed, we ran down to the scene. "Mr. Lestrade, pleased to see you again." Sherlock drawled out monotone, clearly uninterested. Sherlock and I were easily let through the crowd and pulled out by Mr. Lestrade. Greg was there too, inspecting the crime scene like his father.

"Mr. Holmes, we may need you again. This is the fourth one during break and we feel that it may keep happening. None of them are linked and even Greg can't figure it out." He sighed. "I may need you."

Sherlock smiled triumphantly and nodded in respect or thanks to the Detective Inspector, then proceeded to the dead body of Fred Bigby.

"Tell me who else was killed." I heard Sherlock begin behind me. I looked Bigby over carefully and turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock…Um, I maybe not be a doctor yet, but I recognize a time of death and cause when I see it. Fred didn't die from the obvious sniper wound to the head, he died due to a punctured heart from a piece of broken off rib. He was beaten to death. I think he actually died about an hour ago." I explained carefully, then looked around and back to him. "Am…am I wrong?" He furrowed his eyebrows and walked over to inspect the body.

"You…are right." Sherlock said carefully, then looked up at me almost proudly. I smiled a bit and knelt down next to the body. "So, got any ideas?" the DI asked from behind us.

"Fourteen, so far," Sherlock droned quickly, and then looked again. "no, sorry, only eleven."

I chuckled to myself until I felt a tight grasp on my upper arm. I looked around to see who was grabbing (and now dragging) me away from the crime scene and saw Sherlock rushing ahead of me, tugging me along. I quickly turned and followed at the same pace.

"This is fabulous. First, you ask me out, then a serial killer. Oh! It's Christmas." Sherlock buzzed enthusiastically, clasping his hands together in excitement.

"Sherlock, someone just died…"

"I know! Isn't this exciting, John?" I started walking faster, keeping up with him. I nearly slammed into him when he finally stopped.

"You're going to be a doctor." He said, beginning to smirk. "And you take advanced biology. So I take it you've dissected before? And, considering your father is in Afghanistan, you've been to the military wing in the hospital, correct?" I nodded slowly, looking over his face for any sure signs of what he's doing.

"Seen a lot of violent deaths?" I nodded again, this time a little faster.

"What about trouble?" I thought of growing up in the hard neighborhood and coming protecting Sherlock.

"Yes. More than enough. Enough to last a lifetime. " I said quietly,

"Wanna see some more?

"Oh, god, yes."


	13. The Wrath of Jim Moriarty

**MORIARTY POV (a couple days beforehand)**

Sherlock's new pet is really very cute.

I should get myself a live-in one. Although, Seb is satisfactory. I looked over at him, watching him as he takes apart his gun, then puts it back together. It was mesmerizing, the way he worked his hands like that. I smiled a bit to myself, thinking of him.

"_Getting sentimental again?" Sherlock said to me, smirking. I frowned at him. "What's wrong with being a little sentimental?" I responded defensively. He merely chuckled and turned his back on me. I scowled at him as he walked away with his short curls bouncing around carelessly. My scowl faded quickly when Sherlock turned back around and gave me a look that just screamed 'I still need you, please follow me. I have nobody else.' And I instantly smiled and followed, and began talking about forensics, making those grey-blue eyes light up. _

I sighed. That must've been when the obsession began. Sherlock is mine. Sebastian is mine. John Watson is dispensable. Sherlock doesn't need John, John needs Sherlock, and Sherlock needs me. We have no use for John. I scowled to myself.

I hate Fred Bigby more than John, though. I told him secrets and he used them against Sherlock. He was a family friend. He used to be a acquaintance. After Sherlock and I had had a dispute, I had told him everything that was wrong with Sherlock. Just wood to a flame I guess, because now he knows more of the horrible truths of Sherlock Holmes and hasn't even revealed them yet. The other day, he told so many people that Sherlock was a perfect virgin who hasn't even had a girlfriend or – heck – even a boyfriend. Barely any positive contact has been made to him.

Fred Bigby should just die.

I blinked. Then blinked again.

"Seb?" I called out, still in a daze from my beautiful idea.

He looked up and put down his newly-put-together sniper, giving me a questioning look. "What?" He said bluntly.

"How would you like a new assignment?" I began slowly smirking. Oh, this is MARVELOUS. So not-boring. Not-dull.

Sherlock will be so pleased. Happy New Year, Sherlock Holmes. I smiled to myself and made a mental kill list.

**MORIARTY POV (one hour before Sherlock and John found the body)**

Sherlock should be grateful for what I'm doing. I was currently dragging Fred Bigby to a secluded area.

"Bigby, you should be so grateful to me for letting you live this long while you have tried bringing Sherlock down. I should SKIN you." I threatened casually. The look on his duct taped face was sheer terror and a perfect look for him. He began tearing up a bit in the corners of his eyes. I chuckled darkly and continued dragging him along. When we were finally out of complete sight and in a place where he couldn't be seen or heard by accident by an innocent civilian. I smirked and looked around for what Sebastian had put in the alley for me to use against him.

I looked around and only found one baseball bat. Maybe that was what he left for me. I smirked. Does he even play baseball? **(A/N: Teen Wolf reference, because I love Stiles) **

I swung at his legs, knocking him over, and probably breaking his kneecap. He fell over, then I leaned over him, tearing off the duct tape. He began screaming for help, but I just laughed and hit him directly in the chest, earning a big 'OOF' which was momentarily amusing, then the sputtering cough coming out was certainly annoying.

Time to shut him up. I kept beating at his chest until I felt no pulse, heard no breathing and saw no movement at all. I smirked and dropped the baseball bat. I brought him back to campus and laid him down on the greens, then began walking away. I got to the door way, and heard a gunshot and some screaming. I decided to play along and call the police. I ran over, becoming hysterical, and began 'trying' to wake him up by yelling his name and then promptly began crying.

I ran for the building to 'get a teacher' but then ended up just walking boredly up the stairs. I wonder if Sherlock had gotten to the crime scene. I heard the police sirens about a minute ago. I got to his hallway and looked down the hall just in time to see Sherlock Holmes, looking dsahing in his long black tranchcoat and violet-blue scarf and I smiled faintly as he started down the stair, then stopped, still bouncing excitedly, waiting for something. For me? Did he know I was here? I saw John Watson step out of the room as well, still putting on his jacket.

"Sherlock, love, hold on a minute! I thought to police didn't consult amateurs!" John said hurriedly. Sherlock turned around and gave him a small smirk and they then looked at each other smiling, then John added, "Oh you know I'm just kidding you great git." They laughed as they ran down the stairs on the opposite side of the hallway. I kept scowling all the way to my own room on the next floor. I practically stomped all the way to 322B, and plopped down next to the window.

I watched as Sherlock examined the scene then turned to talk to Mr. Lestrade. I smiled. You clever, clever boy. Suddenly, Sherlock's head snapped around and I saw him stare and John and smile.

Did John say something intelligent? That's his 'you're actually smart' look that Sherlock only gives when something brilliant was said. When they began leaving, I saw Sherlock stop and talk to John, they smiled at each other and ran back inside.

Sherlock was being much less cold to him than he ever was to me.

I deserve his affections.

John Watson has to die.


End file.
